


the place to lose your fears

by iphigenias



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 00:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10425084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iphigenias/pseuds/iphigenias
Summary: Baz can't sleep. Simon finds the right words.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i read carry on in a single day and have so many regrets but falling in love with baz and simon's relationship is not one of them. title is from zayn's "pillowtalk"

Baz has never been an easy sleeper. He supposes it has something to do with what he is—don’t most vampires sleep during the day? For years at home he would lie in his bed in the dark and think about all the things he never let himself dwell on during the day. His mother. The Humdrum. The taste of blood in his mouth that isn’t his own.

Simon Snow.

At Watford, sleeping was even harder, not least for the fact that Snow laid not two metres away from him, blue eyes closed and hair a tumble of bronze curls on his pillow. He even made soft snuffling noises in his sleep that used to infuriate Baz to no end—infuriate him because they simply made Baz fall a little bit more in love with his roommate every night.

So even after everything; after the Mage, the Humdrum, after _Simon_ —Baz still has trouble sleeping. He’s accepted it by now. Knows the liquid, languid feel of midnight, when the rest of the world is asleep, as it wraps around him like a blanket until finally his eyes draw closed. Baz is pale already, and his eyes are dark. His tiredness is invisible to most people. Most of the time.

It seems Snow is always the exception to the rule.

Whenever Baz stays over his and Bunce’s place (which is a lot, considering the fact that he doesn’t pay rent there) Simon always seems to _know_. Knows when Baz is sleeping, and when it’s just pretend. And the idiotic, insufferable, irresistible thing about Simon Snow?

Despite everything, he still acts like the hero, even when he doesn’t have to be.

“What’re you thinking about?” he says tonight, voice sleep-soft and gentle, rolling on his side to nose at Baz’s bare shoulder.

“Nothing,” Baz says, because what he’s really thinking about is the way the sun will hit Simon’s hair in the morning and light it up like a halo, about how the warm weight of Simon pressed up against his side makes Baz feel safer than he’s ever been, about how he still can’t quite believe that this, _this_ , what he wanted and hated and wanted for half his life is his—really _his_.

Simon seems to know, though. He hears Baz’s answer and knows what lies behind it. He presses a kiss to Baz’s collarbone.

“You sound tired.”

Baz tries to tamp down on his instinctual response of annoyance. “I am,” he says instead, deliberately keeping his voice soft. “But that doesn’t mean it’s any easier to fall asleep.” The annoyance has crept into the words despite his best efforts, and Baz sighs. Opens his eyes and rolls away from Simon to stare sightlessly at the bedside table, which despite Baz not even living here is full of everything that should be in his own bedside table back home. It’s hard; he and Simon both know this. Hard to unlearn seven years of hatred and fear; hard to rewrite those neural passages that connect _Simon_ with _danger_ and _enemy_. And the thing is, it’s hard for Simon too, but everything inside of him is so good and light and golden that hard for him is impossible for people like Baz. For—things like Baz.

This is another thought he has to unlearn: he might not be as good as Simon, but he’s good enough. He’s _enough_.

Simon makes a small sound, and reaches his hand over to tuck Baz’s hair behind his ears. Baz can imagine the look on his face. It’s soft, in his mind. Forgiving. Something like shame washes up in Baz’s gut but this, too, is something to forget; it’s okay to be sorry. And it’s okay to be forgiven.

“What are we doing tomorrow?” Simon says instead, and Baz loves him for that, loves him for knowing the right thing to say when he needs it the most. Simon isn’t always like this. Simon infuriates Baz at the best of times. Simon mixes up his words and says the wrong thing and makes Baz’s mouth turn down at the corners, the way he hates. But Baz thinks that’s the reason he loves him so much, because Simon isn’t perfect—but in the quiet corners of the night, he comes damn near close, and those are the times Baz doesn’t mind it at all.

“I think you mean today,” Baz says, glancing at the LED clock on the nightstand. “I don’t know. I thought maybe we could go to the beach.”

Simon laughs, too loud, but Baz swallows up the sound like blood. “It’s winter, Baz. And the closest beach is at least two hours drive.”

“So?” Baz rolls back over so he’s facing Simon. Their noses are close enough to touch, so he leans in and they do. Simon’s squishes to one side and Baz wants to kiss him all over. “No one else will be there. And it’s not like we had any plans.”

Simon studies him carefully for a moment before leaning in and giving him a long, slow, 2AM kiss. “I guess not,” he says against Baz’s mouth, and Baz can feel him smile. “Brighton it is.” They kiss again, and again, but they’re both tired so that’s all it is. A kiss. Two kisses.

It’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> outtake:
> 
> simon: when you said "magical in bed" this isn't exactly what i was exp-  
> baz: *holds up 8 of hearts* is this your card  
> simon: *softly* holy shit


End file.
